


Sweet Taste

by ObsidianPen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 07:16:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13608330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidianPen/pseuds/ObsidianPen
Summary: “You stayed for me,” she whispers. I blink stupidly. I have no idea what she’s talking about. “And I… I ‘ave always meant to thank you.” She pauses, and for as forward as she was a moment ago, she looks suddenly hesitant. “If… If you are not scared.”She bites her bottom lip, and my breath catches in my throat at the seemingly innocent action. “I’m not scared,” says someone else with my mouth, with a voice that sounds dangerously close to mine.She smiles.





	Sweet Taste

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theway/gifts).



I don’t know how we got here.

My mind is buzzing; there is a ringing in my ears that won’t fade. My fingers are trembling. She’s moving closer, my back is against a wall, and I’m _trembling._

“You are afraid of me,” she says. Her voice is throaty, soft. I swallow hard. “You find me… frightening.”

She is absolutely right, of course. I cannot deny it.

I am _terrified_ Gabrielle Delacour.

She is young, she is gorgeous, and now—as she advances on me in her tight, golden dress, too much skin exposed, her expression pleading—I find her more terrifying than any dark wizard I have ever come across. Her eyes are hypnotic. I force myself not to look at them. But then, there is nowhere safe for my gaze to land. Her hair is silvery and long; looking at it makes me want to run my fingers through it. Her skin is fair and smooth; I desperately want to know what it feels like. And her lips—they are pink, and full, and—

“No,” I say breathily, because although I _am_ terrified, I am also Harry Potter. I close my eyes and shake my head. An aroma like rosewater clings to her skin, assaulting my senses. It is entirely too alluring. I feel like someone has lit a match in my chest when I inhale her scent, a perilous spark, and I’m afraid I’m going to burst into flames at any moment. “I’m not—you’re not—”

I take a deep breath in through my mouth, trying to gather myself. “What do you want?” I ask as calmly as I can. My words sound feeble. I keep my eyes closed.

I feel like such a coward as I withdraw from her, taking a shaky step backwards. My back presses harder against the wall. The sounds which emanate from the bar—which is just down the alley, _so close_ —might as well be on the other side of the country. I can barely make them out over the ringing in my ears. I only had two drinks, but in this shadowy alleyway, with _Fleur’s younger sister_ advancing on me, I feel more intoxicated than I ever have in my life. I know I left the pub for a reason, but now I can’t remember. I only recall that someone called after me as I was leaving, and then, quite suddenly, the entire world was Gabrielle Delacour.

How did we get here?

“Is… zat not obvious?”

I think I _do_ know what she wants. But I can’t do this—Gabrielle is… how old is she? I try and do the simple math, but my brain is frazzled and utterly incapable. “Gabrielle,” I say, and my mouth is very dry. I can sense her stepping closer; her magic is suffocating in the most seductive, perilous way. “Please,” I whisper. My voice cracks.

“’Arry.”

I open my eyes. It is not a smart move.

There are mere inches between her body and mine. Her irises are bright blue and dazzling, her pupils are blown. I am lost in them. I forget everything that I am—a grown man, a capable wizard, a trained auror. _The Chosen One._

I have never been more powerless.

“You stayed for me,” she whispers. I blink stupidly. I have no idea what she’s talking about. “And I… I ‘ave always meant to thank you.” She pauses, and for as forward as she was a moment ago, she looks suddenly hesitant. “If… If you are not scared.”

She bites her bottom lip, and my breath catches in my throat at the seemingly innocent action. “I’m not scared,” says someone else with my mouth, with a voice that sounds dangerously close to mine.

She smiles. Gabrielle steps even closer, and she stands on her tip toes, her chin tilted up. I can feel her breath fanning against my face. It smells like sweet wine, mingling intoxicatingly with the rosewater scent of her skin. This isn’t happening—I can’t think, I can’t—  

Her lips press against mine. They are softer than I ever could have imagined, and so _warm_. There is a fractional second where my muscles tense, and I realize what is happening, and how it should not be happening, and I think I might be capable of stopping this after all—but then I feel her tongue brush my lower lip, a teasing action, and I surrender completely.

My mouth opens and I am _hungry_ for her; I am a man starving for the lips and tongue and sweet taste of Gabrielle Delacour. I am hyperaware of how our bodies feel pressed together, of her every curve against my chest, my waist, my hips. I lift my hands to her face and feel her skin, smoother than stone but pulsing with warmth; I tangle my fingers into her hair and pull her head back—I moan into her mouth and deepen our kiss; heat is pooling in my stomach and I am _enthralled_ —

Suddenly, she pulls away.

The abrupt absence of her sweetness is disorienting. I sway slightly as she steps back; my eyes are a bit out of focus. I feel like I’ve just been struck in the back of the head by a particularly powerful bludger. My legs feel weak, and I fear they might fail me.

Gabrielle winks. Then, without a word of explanation, she turns and leaves, walking with a rapid and fluid grace. I’m left standing there, gaping, flustered, and on the brink of madness with lust. My heart is pounding. I am trembling again.

As I watch her go, her golden dress glinting and hair billowing behind her, silvery and bright like wings… I can’t help but think of a snitch.

 


End file.
